Seasons Of Love
by KittykatMC
Summary: At the ripe old age of 101 & 73 years to the day he proposed, Lady Mary Crawley passes away, reuniting with her beloved Matthew at long last. But as she watches George & her grandchildren grieve for her, she quickly begins to realise that choosing between the living & the dead is harder than she thought. Can Matthew convince her to stay with him before it's too late? CHAPTER 5 UP!
1. Leaving on a Jet Plane

**Author's Note:** What can I say? I've been binge watching the first three series of Downton and completely forgot how much I love M/M! They were love in its' rare, purest form and I think I speak for the whole fandom when I say - 'nothing compares to you!'

I like to pretend the last three series was just fanfiction - I mean, I didn't enjoy any of it except little George and the Mary/Tom friendship. Oh and Queen Violet of course. I also like to think that Talbot got in his car and drove as far away as possible! I liked him in the CS but then when they shoehorned him into Mary's life - when she clearly didn't want him - I finally saw all the sharks jumping in front of my TV! Anyway, this is an AU where she didn't marry anyone (what's wrong with being a single mum and happy? Also, how come there were all these young men around, after a war which decimated a whole generation?!) So yeah, back to the story, Mary finally reunites with Matthew (and her family) in the afterlife. I started writing it as a point of closure - but then the story started spinning into something bigger so it's not a one shot anymore.

Anyway, enough rambling! Please read and let me know what you think! (All rights belong to Fellowes, ITV, Carnival etc.)

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Leaving on a Jet Plane**

 ** _January 12th 1993_**

A hundred and one years.

How was it possible for one to live so long? Too much. She'd seen too much change and now it was as if she were living in a different world. She could never understand Granny or Papa's reluctance to let go of the past… but watching the entire world she knew and loved, collapse into ruination…

It was time to let go. Before she was lost entirely.

 _"Everything seems so golden one minute and then turns to ashes the next."_

Lady Mary Crawley pulled herself out of her wheelchair, leaning on her cane, she shuffled to the window. She gazed out into the gardens, the grass coated with a shimmer of frost. Only two months ago, they'd celebrated her one hundred and first birthday, huddled outside, pretending not to feel the chill. She almost smirked. Just like the English. Oh yes, she'd lived all right, and seen it all.

A hundred and one years. A milestone. An achievement.

She'd lived through two world wars, clenched her teeth in fear – first for the love of her life – the second, for their only, precious child. She'd watched her son take over the mantle as the Earl of Grantham and turn Downton into a training airfield for the RAF… a hub that's still celebrated to this very day, essentially saving the entire estate.

 _"So we'll be building our kingdom while we make our little prince."_

 _"I'm looking forward to both enormously."_

And what a prince he was. My God, the things George had achieved by his mid twenties alone… a real aviation hero of the Second World War and decorated highly by the King.

She'd watched walls built – and then crumble down. She'd watched Prime Ministers swan in and out of Downing Street. She watched socialism finally erupt, spreading over the country like a contagious gas. Workers, miners, teachers striking and protesting, her son almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion from it all. She saw women's skirts grow shorter and men's hair grow longer...!

 _'Have you seen the boys haircuts that the women are wearing in Paris?'_

 _'I hope you won't try that.'_

All in all, she saw the perfect, golden world of her childhood, die a slow... agonising death. But importantly... she lived through a revolution. A proper one that grabbed control of the world with both fists and refused to let go. And the awful truth was - Mary agreed with them. After WW2, what right did any of her lot have to control anyone any more? No wonder her dear Papa passed away only two years into the war. It must've been sheer terror as well as outright worry for George's safety that finally finished the poor man off.

Mary caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Who was that old woman staring back at her? What happened to the vibrant young woman who sashayed into each room, head held high, commanding attention wherever she turned? What happened to the young woman who 'pushed in' to Crawley House and set off a chain of events that changed absolutely everything….

 _"Well they're clearly going to push one of the daughters at me! They'd have fixed on that when they heard I was a bachelor."_

"Mary…."

That voice. God. She hadn't heard it in so long…. Seventy-one years and five months to be exact.

"Where – where are you my darling?" She whispered, longing yet dreading to hear it again.

A chill trickled down her neck. She gasped, her thin, leather hands brushed over the spot.

Must've been the wind. It was always a drafty house. Carson scoffed at the very idea of central heating. Luckily Barrow was much more accepting of 'His Lordship' and the changes brought forth.

"Mama, there you are! I thought you'd run away from us." George's voice pulled her back, sharply into the present.

"Hardly!' Mary scoffed, "In this contraption, I'm unlikely to get very far!"

George laughed, sorting through the large pile of letters on his desk.

"How was the shoot?" Mary asked.

"All right. We didn't catch much. But it was good to see everyone again."

"Is Sybbie coming for dinner tonight?"

"No, Sybbie said Charlie wasn't feeling well so they're going to give the shooting a miss altogether."

"Oh! But I was looking forward to seeing her!"

"Me too Mama, but Charlie can't risk another outing so soon. She said Charlotte and Tommy might still make it, along with their lot for tomorrow." George gave her a wistful smile. "It'll be good to have them all at Downton again. Don't you think?"

Mary nodded, "Yes. I should like to see them all." Before I go. She almost added, but quickly swallowed the words.

"Hopefully Charlie will make a full recovery soon."

She had to admit, when Sybbie married Charlie Bryant – well, Dr Bryant as he was known - she could almost hear Granny chuckling from beyond the grave.

A housemaid son and the chauffeur's daughter. It was definitely something they could all chuckle about now. Only because the world had finally changed and so had everyone in it.

It was certainly odd to think that all four of Charlotte and Tommy's grandparents had been – 'fraternising' under Downton's roof at exactly the same time.

 _"Ethel's made her choice and now she must live with it."_

Little did she know that the consequence of Ethel's 'choice' would be married to her niece!

Life has a funny way of twisting everyone together.

George sniffed, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief.

"What's the matter Georgie?" Mary asked, adopting the same tone she had when she caught him sniffling in the nursery because his toy airplane had a broken wing.

"I'm not feeling that spectacular myself to be honest. I knew I should've given it a miss."

 _"I shouldn't have done that. But I couldn't resist."_

 _"See this is just what I was afraid of."_

"Then why didn't you?" Mary chided. Even though he was seventy-one with grandchildren of his own - he'd always be her baby. "Why couldn't you just let Ross host it?"

"I didn't want to risk leaving Ross alone with Lord Manville!' George rolled his eyes, "He'd start spouting all that political nonsense and I'm not sure my patience could handle it. Armed with guns, it would only end in disaster for one or both of us!"

Mary's eye lids fluttered in exasperation. She'd spent most of her eldest grandson's life acting as a peacekeeper between him and – well – the rest of the family. A socialist Viscount and future Earl of Grantham. Naturally he made waves amongst his peers in the House of Lords.

Granny and Papa would faint from shock or shame. She wasn't quite sure which.

"Georgie you mustn't fight with Ross." Mary gently reminded him.

"Why not?"

"Because…"

 _"Because one day you might need him."_

"Because you two need each other. He's your son and heir. He's going to be the next Earl of Grantham whether you like it or not. " She gestured to him, "If we could pick and choose the title – you won't be standing here now! You can trust me on that!"

George smirked. Mary's heartbeat accelerated. It was almost as if Matthew were stood before her…

 _"Don't play with me. I don't deserve it. Not from you."_

George lifted a decanter of scotch from the holdall and popped the lid off. "I know Mama. But he doesn't make it easy." He poured himself a healthy measure.

Mary raised her brow, "All right, so your eldest son's a rebel! What can you do about it?"

"Rebel? He's practically a communist. I wouldn't be surprised if he invited the locals to tie us all up and ransack the house!"

Mary clucked. "Don't exaggerate!"

"I'm sorry, have you forgotten Christmas 68? Is that an exaggeration?"

"He was a – what do they call it – a 'teenager' for goodness sake!"

George blinked. "He burned the Christmas tree down Mama. On purpose."

"He was worried we were going to lose Downton. He was trying to help." Mary shuffled her feet awkwardly, the memory of Ross's actions still burned brightly in their memories as did the house that night. "Besides he didn't know we'd be in the house that night. He thought we were all at church."

George glared at her. "Oh. That's fine then."

"All right, so Ross may act on impulse. But he isn't the first Crawley to do so. And he certainly won't be the last."

 _"You're not the first Crawley to make a mistake."_

George raised his glass in a mock salute, "To the future Earl of Grantham."

Mary sighed, "George, training you wasn't exactly a stroll in Hyde Park."

He all but slammed the tumbler on the mahogany. "What do you mean? I was twenty when Grandpapa died and we were in the middle of a war! I was skiing down a steep learning curve - compared to Ross I was practically a baby! I had been shot down, my face ripped apart, my legs burnt to a crisp and my shoulder cracked out of joint – but I still took my duties seriously! I literally poured my life, blood, sweat and tears into Downton!"

"Yes and turned it into an airport!"

"For the millionth time Mama, an RAF training base isn't an airport!" He huffed, "They needed a vast open space to train pilots and we have it! Acres and acres of it!"

"And I was all for waving the flag in our honour during that time – but the war ended forty-eight years ago, so what on earth are they all still doing here?"

George pinched the bridge of his nose, again, embodying his dear father in every way. "I'm not fighting you on this again Mama. We need money. This is how. We have to keep it going."

Mary bristled, "George I'm not criticizing -"

"Aren't you?"

"But I can think of better ways to keep Downton afloat without turning it into the next Aerodrome!"

George took a deep breath. "Why are you rehashing all this now? Ross agrees with me and has some incredible plans for the place that stretch all the way into the next millennia and beyond! And that's good enough for me!" He said, punctuating his statement with a large gulp of scotch.

Mary tried not to let the smirk crack through her lips, but it was too tempting to resist. She bit her tongue, waiting.

George slowly turned to her, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Very clever Mama."

Mary adjusted the sleeves on her cable knit cardigan, "I don't know what you mean my dear. I was – merely making conversation."

"Oh, is that what you call it?"

 _'Do I hear sounds of a disagreement?'_

 _'Is that what they call discussion in New York.'_

"It must be my American blood seeping through. But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll denounce you as a liar…"

Her words lingered uncomfortably in the air. She hadn't realised….

"I wouldn't dare Mama." George's face broke into a smile and he relaxed into their confortable silence with ease. How many times had they done this during the war? Pigeon holed into the library whilst air force intelligence stormed the rest of the house. George would sit with her, decked in his navy blue uniform and under candlelight, the two of them would spend hours chatting – sometimes well into the break of dawn. When he had been shot down during that fateful Spring of 1941, she'd spent hours by his bedside, the toy tog pressed in his palm. His face, even now, had a thin scar running down his cheek.

Battle scars. A mark of war. Just like his father.

 _'You must promise to give it back without a scratch.'_

 _'Won't you need it?'_

 _'Not as much as you.'_

Darling George. Mary had watched him receive all the medals of honour and valour, kneeling before the King. She'd watched him marry the girl who nursed him through the darkest period of his life, and smiled as their four children come into the world.

First the twins in 1950 - Ross, the Viscount Downton and Lady Elizabeth, followed by Alexander in late 1955.

She'd tried to fight some of the names, but should've realised that her child, who carried both hers and Matthew's blood, would never back down. Always did love a good argument, her little George. And she loved him for it.

 _'If you really like an argument...'_

 _'Yes?'_

 _'We should see more of each other.'_

Lizzie had married a Duke and was now the Duchess of Malahide. Eighty years ago, Mary would've sobbed with joy at the thought of her only granddaughter outranking everyone, including her. Now, she didn't even know what it meant to wear a Duchesses coronet. Nevertheless, she still encouraged the match all the same, if anything to spite Edith at least.

 _'So he slipped the hook.'_

 _'At least I'm not fishing with no bait!'_

Dear Edith. Death finally came for her sister/nemesis in the late seventies. 1978 to be exact, shortly after her eighty fifth birthday. Mary was certain that it was poor Marigold's shock heart attack that finished Edith off. It was almost as if she'd just given up after that. But Mary was there by her side. Wishing her well, passing on messages for Mama, Papa, Sybil, Granny, Aunt Rosamund…. Matthew…

George and Sybbie were both equally distraught. Losing Marigold was like losing a sister – and so much more. The three of them were bound together, tightly, by more than just blood. Losing their respective parents at birth, the shared fear of living in a war torn country and then trying to pick up the pieces afterward.

Mary watched her son wince as he settled into his armchair. That shoulder was causing him more grief as he limped toward old age.

The heavy door creaked open and Alex poked his dark head round. "There you both are! Mind if we come in?" He held up a bottle of champagne, "The Greys gave this to us for Christmas. We could crack it open now and have a private post shooting party – party – so to speak."

George laughed, "Of course! Come on in! Where's your mother?"

"Upstairs. Having a lie down before dinner." Lizzie said, giving her father a kiss on the cheek.

Of course. Victoria, her dear daughter-in-law was also suffering from the burdens of age.

Mary watched as all her grandchildren, now grown adults, all married with children of their own, filed into the drawing room – as she had once done with her sisters, all those years ago.

They all bent to kiss her leathery cheek – as she used to do to Granny. Now she was Granny. And great-Granny. Crikey.

Lizzie pulled back and stroked her face, her blue eyes sparkling with concern. "Granny you look done in."

"Oh thank you."

"No I didn't mean it like that – "

"Lizzie darling, I'm a hundred and one. You can hardly expect me to bounce off the walls doing cartwheels!"

Ross scoffed, "I should hope not, for our own sanity's sake!"

Lizzie laughed but it didn't reach her eyes. Mary reached out and grasped her granddaughter's hand. The truth was, Lizzie reminded Mary so much of herself. Dark hair, porcelain skin, a deep love for horse riding and irritating any man she stumbled across.

As a result, grandmother and granddaughter shared a special bond…

 _"I'm not your governess. I'm your grandmother."_

 _"And the difference is."_

 _"I love you."_

Alex popped open the champagne and poured everyone a glass. He raised his flute in the air. "To Crawley Brothers Limited! Celebrating twenty-one years this October! And here's to twenty-one more!"

"And here's to us!" George added, lifting his own flute, "The Crawley's. Downton. And everyone under it. Still standing, still soldiering on!"

 _'From war and peace, Downton still stands and the Crawley's are still in it!'_

Crawley Brothers Ltd. A property business started in the ripe Autumn of 1972, which now housed most of the village. When Ross had told her of his plans, fresh faced and young, straight out of Cambridge, to join forces with Alex and go into partnership, renovating properties and selling them – she knew Downton would be safe.

The Crawley Brothers. Papa would've relished the sound of that.

George had given the boys the Dower House to convert into their office, even extending the offer to Grantham House, to use as their London branch. Now, they were quite the businessmen.

She'd been there at the opening, watching Ross cut the ribbon on the steps of her grandmother's – and then mother's house. She'd gazed at the glossy black plaque fixed permanently on the wrought iron gates.

CRAWLEY BROTHERS LTD. EST. 1972.

Alex, still a schoolboy of seventeen, had turned to her and shyly asked if Grandpa would be proud of them. Mary nodded, holding back the tears and said yes. Yes, Matthew would be very proud of his grandsons. So very proud.

 _"How are the cottages?"_

 _"They're coming along wonderfully, I'd love to show you."_

It was odd. Walking through Granny's elegant Edwardian halls that were now chirruping with telephones and fax machines around every corner, not to mention those beastly computers!

 _"First electricity, now telephones! I feel as if I were living in an HG Wells novel."_

And Mary saw to it that every room had at least one swivel chair.

"Granny are you all right?" Alex's concerned voice drifted over to her, "You were in a daze."

"For heaven sake, I wish people would stop fussing." Mary responded with a wry smile, "I was only thinking of days gone by. I'm not tuning out on you. Well, not yet anyway."

"Care to share the memories Granny?" Ross asked.

"Well if you must know, this time seventy-three years ago, your grandfather proposed to me at the servants ball -"

"Servants ball!" Ross snickered, "Oh how the mighty have fallen!"

Mary scowled, "The mighty have not fallen Ross, far from it. Trust me. We're the very lucky ones! We still have Downton thanks to your Papa and his lifelong obsession with aviation! And do stop putting the champagne away, you'll make yourself ill."

"That's the idea." He sighed.

A sigh escaped Mary's lips too. She exchanged a weary glance with George. Tom was always the one who seemed to exert any control over Ross. Perhaps it was because they shared the same kind of opinions and values. All her grandchildren saw Tom as a surrogate grandfather. Just like Sybbie's children saw her as a surrogate grandmother.

" _If you love me, you'll let me go."_

 _"Then I must let you go."_

Oh how she missed Tom.

Even though their relationship was purely platonic, she'd come to realise that she'd been best friends with Tom longer than either of them had been married to their respected others. They'd helped raise each other's children and kept each other company. They couldn't find love or companionship with anyone else – so they settled for friendship with each other. A strong, solid friendship that lasted fifty-seven years.

If she had been that ignorant girl from eighty years ago, she'd have screamed with horror at the thought of the chauffeur being her brother-in-law, never mind her life long companion!

 _'I just wish you all knew him.'_

 _'Darling we will know him. We will know him and value him, I promise.'_

On an infamous night in 1979, when a certain iron lady stormed Downing Street, Tom had passed over, Sybil's name a mere whisper on his lips. He had been the last connection. Barrow had passed away a few years before him (loyal to 'Master George' and the Granthams till the end) and two years later, Rose joined them all.

Mary truly was the last one to brave the storm alone.

But she wasn't alone. Not really. She had her family. They just… knew her as 'Mama' and 'Granny.' Even 'Great-Granny. '

Not Mary.

Never Mary.

Her name had faded away.

 _"I hope I get to be your Mary Crawley for all of eternity. And not Edith's version or anyone else's for that matter."_

 _"You'll be my Mary always. Because mine is the true Mary."_

"It's snowing!" Alex exclaimed, grinning. He gestured to the window, his boyish face adopting the same expression as his late grandfather.

Mary turned her gaze to the window. Soft flakes fluttered onto the pane, catching onto the glass. She held her breath. Snow always had this affect on her.

"Bloody typical!" George groaned, shaking his head. "The roads will need to be gritted."

"I'll get on it right away Dad." Alex said, forcing a smile. "It is our duty after all."

 _'I hope I've done my duty.'_

 _'Are you a creature of duty?'_

 _'Not entirely.'_

"Did I ever tell you about the time your grandfather proposed to me?" Mary said suddenly, the words spilling out of her mouth. She watched the snow meander down and felt a smile tug at her lips. For it had been seventy-three years to the day. How poetic.

Ross smirked. "Which time?"

Lizzie playfully slapped his arm, "Don't tease her! Although - I prefer the first time. I don't know why, there's just something quite intimate about the whole thing?"

"What's so intimate about eating sandwiches in the dining room?" Ross asked with a dry laugh.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, "At the time it was basically behind the bike sheds!"

"Lizzie please!" George sputtered, "That's my parents!"

"I actually prefer the second time." Alex said with a smile, "I mean - in the snow, on one knee, you've got to hand it to Grandpa, he's got style there's no denying it!"

Mary chuckled. _Did you hear that my love? Our grandson thinks you have style!_

"But Granny made him kneel down, didn't you?" Lizzie added with a smirk.

Mary nodded, still laughing, "I did. And you make sure you tell your daughters that part of the story!" She pointed at Ross, "That goes for you as well!"

Ross threw his hands up in surrender, "I know to accept an order when given one!"

"Do you?" George murmured into his glass. Mary narrowed her eyes at him.

"Of course I'll tell the girls Granny," Lizzie said, "I'll even tell Johnny! I think it's important for him to learn a little romanticism!"

' _Why Granny you're a romantic!'_

 _"I've been called many things, but never that!'_

"To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised they even made it up the aisle!" Ross said, picking up a glass paperweight off the desk and peering into it.

"We could say the same about you!" Lizzie shot back.

"Children, children play nice!" Mary calmly interjected, before he threw the paperweight at her and they all escalated into WW3. They may be in their forties but they behaved as if they were about four. Well... only around her.

 _'You came. To be honest I wasn't completely sure you would.'_

 _'I'm glad to hear it. I should hate to be predictable!'_

"Okay Mama, let's hear it." George placed his glass on the table, preparing to listen to this story, for what felt like the millionth time. His face, though weathered by age, still held the same captive attention he had when he was four. Any chance to hear about the man who had loved and wanted him, long before he was born.

 _"Hello my dearest little chap! I wonder if he has any idea how much joy he brings with him…"_

"Turn me around so I can see the window." Mary commanded.

Alex obeyed her, gently turning her wheelchair so she faced outside.

"Open the window." Mary ordered, "I'd like to feel the cold on my face…."

"But Granny," Lizzie admonished. "You can't expose your chest!"

Mary just chuckled, "I'll be all right."

"Of course she will. They didn't call her the Ice Queen for nothing!" Ross quipped.

"They didn't call me the Ice Queen at all! Thank you!" Mary countered, giving her eldest grandson a wink.

Ross wrenched open the windows, allowing the crisp Winter air to seep on in.

Mary knew the snow was for her. And she knew what she had to do.

"Alex." She said suddenly, "Fetch a pen and paper my dear. You're going to want to write this down."

Naturally Alex obeyed her. Puzzled he sat at the small oak table, the very one her father used to occupy. Mary turned to her family.

"I want to tell you all my story… well, mine and your grandfather's. You see, it all really began with the sinking of the Titanic… "

And it all came out. Everything. From the day she'd pushed into Crawley House, to Andromeda and Perseus. From the night they giggled over salty pudding to kissing at the dining table. From parting under the oak tree to reuniting during the war. From broken spines to broken hearts. And then….

"I was standing in the snow and I didn't have a coat." She giggled. Like a silly girl all over again, in the throes of her first love. Her son and darling grandchildren all listened quietly, their eyes now slightly glistening.

"Did Grandpa not even give you his jacket?" Ross asked with a smirk, "I thought he was supposed to be a gentleman!"

 _"Marry a man who can barely hold his knife like a gentleman!"_

"Ross your grandfather was the finest gentleman I ever knew. Along with your father and you boys of course!"

"So what happened next Granny?" Lizzie pressed, even though she knew the story verbatim.

Mary turned to the window, a ghost of a smile gracing her weathered face.

"I just knew he was going to propose. And I couldn't breathe…. I loved him so much I - I couldn't – breathe…"

Her lungs were growing heavier now, her breathing slowing down. She felt the prickle of icy wind against her face. Like a kiss.

It felt nice. So very nice...

 _'Oh as nice as nice can be!"_

"How about a song?" George suggested, his voice shaking a little. Seventy-one years and he still hadn't quite recovered from being robbed of a father for his entire life. It was different for the grandchildren. They'd had their mother's father. They'd even had Tom. But George only had her, Tom and Papa as a makeshift substitute.

And Mr Barrow. Always Mr Barrow.

 _'Even a butler has his favourites m'lady.'_

Wasn't that the truth.

"What song shall we sing?" Alex asked, lifting his precious Gibson J200 from the corner of the room. He perched on the end of the sofa, balancing the instrument on his lap and muddling through the strings. Mary had gifted it to him for his fourteenth birthday, when he was into all that pop-rock nonsense, unable to converse for five minutes without name-dropping Bob Dylan or Jimi Hendrix.

"You pick whatever song you want." George lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. "As long as it's not that awful Led Zepper rubbish!"

"Led Zeppelin." Ross said through gritted teeth.

"And they're not rubbish Daddy!" Lizzie added, "Ross and I saw them in concert back in 71, remember!"

"Hardly!"

"Well I do!" Mary interrupted, "They couldn't go for weeks without singing Stairway To Heaven..."

Mary glanced at the space to her left. It was bathed in darkness, unused and unwanted. But she could see a piano. And where her family now crowded – a gathering of soldiers were crammed into the room. She was stood by the piano, relief flooding every inch of her body….

 _'I would say such wonderful things to you…'_

 _'There would be such wonderful things to do.'_

 _'If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy…'_

"Mary…"

The whisper tickled her ear. She released a tiny whimper, her dark eyes searching desperately for him.

Her family didn't hear her. They were too busy laughing, lost in their own mirth.

Alex smiled at her. "All right! This one's for you Granny. It was the first song I learned on this thing. And to be honest, it's the only one I can remember right now!"

Ross caught her eye and they tried not to grin. Lizzie entwined her fingers with Mary's and leaned into her, just as she used to when she was a little girl. Mary never had that kind of intimate relationship with her grandmother and definitely not whilst growing up. Another gift to thank the revolution for. As if sensing her thoughts, Lizzie looked up at her and smiled, stroking her hand lightly with her thumb - as her grandfather had once did.

This. It was moments like this that she savoured. Downton. And her family. Together.

 _'I wanted a chance to be alone. With my family.'_

She once told Matthew all those years ago, when they squabbled about the inheritance money, that she wanted to die at Downton. Surrounded by her family and at peace. Life had flung so much cruelty at her over the past century. But this was its' way of rewarding her, for all the mud it had dragged her through. In the end. She got what she finally wanted. Lady Mary usually does.

 _'No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else's house! Especially someone they didn't even know!'_

A smile tugged at Mary's lips. _I'll see you very soon Granny._

Alex dragged his thumb over the strings, the first chord reverberating around the grand room.

"All my bags are packed,

I'm ready to go,

I'm standing here, outside your door,

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye."

Mary's eyes burned. The tears already threatening to spill. Alex closed his eyes, relishing the music.

"But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn.

The taxi's waiting, he's blowing his horn.

Already I'm so lonesome, I could die…"

A dull weight settled into the pit of her stomach.

"So kiss me and smile for me,

Tell me that you'll wait for me,

Hold me like you'll never let me go."

"Oh…" She whispered, her breaths exiting in short, sharp bursts.

"Cause' I'm leaving on a jet plane,

Don't know when I'll be back again.

Oh babe. I hate to go…"

A shrill whistle blew in the distance, somewhere in 1916. Mary's throat tightened, a stray tear slipping down her creased cheek.

' _Bye then. And such good luck!'_

 _"Goodbye Mary. And God bless you.'_

"Every place I go, I'll think of you.

Every song I sing, I'll sing for you,

When I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring."

Her thin fingers found her wedding rings, still sat snugly at the end of her ring finger. She'd never taken it off. She would wear it till the day she… well, till the day she….

"Now the time has come for me to leave you,

One more time, let me kiss you.

And close your eyes,

I'll be on my way."

 _'But first I think I've earned a decent kiss.'_

 _'You most certainly, certainly have!'_

She was really struggling now, black spots danced in front of her eyes. A numbness spreading across her arm, to her hands, fingertips… she couldn't feel Lizzie's hand in hers anymore.

"Oh babe, I hate to go..."

 _'I've got to go.'_

 _'Of course you have.'_

"Granny?" Lizzie's sharp voice tried to pull her back, her dainty hand shaking her own frail one. The music stopped.

Alex wasn't singing anymore. Why wasn't he singing?

"Mama?" George's panicked voice called from afar but… it was too far and she couldn't move her hand…

"Mary…"

"Matthew…?" The name fell from her lips like a prayer.

 _'There's one thing I won't take for granted. That I'll love you until the last breath leaves my body..."_

 _'Oh my darling me too!"_

"Ross do... something!"

"Call... ambulance... now!

Was that George's voice…? Or Alex's…?

The only reason she had clung onto life for so long, was because she had been so worried about George, about Ross, about Lizzie, about Alex, about Sybbie, about Downton, about the future and on and on…

It was her basic flaw among many. But now… she wasn't worried. Not anymore.

 _'You have a straightforward choice before you. You must choose either death or life. '_

 _'And you think I should choose life?'_

Her grandchildren, as they inched toward their thirties and forties, always complained about birthdays. Growing older. Grumpier. She wanted to beat them about the head! Many people didn't enjoy that privilege, couldn't they see that? Sybil, William, Lavinia... Matthew!

Life is cruel, yes, but it's also a luxury. A luxury that the young take for granted.

 _"You've lived your life and I've lived mine... and now it's time we live them together."_

For so long she'd been their matriarch, their rock, their Queen. But now it was time to leave them behind – and join the people who had all left her behind.

"Granny….?" It was Ross calling her back this time; his voice was so far away… so very far…she vaguely felt cold fingers press against her neck.

 _"Lady Mary Crawley. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"_

Whispers now… frantic, urgent whispers. "Granny…! Granny…! Oh… God…!"

"Yes..." She whispered, a loving smile gracing her face. Her head lolled to the side.

They say stranger things happen at sea and she didn't realise how literal that phrase applied to her life – until now.

If a ship had not sunk, her darling family would not be surrounding her today. If it wasn't for that one ship. That one iceberg. Those two Crawleys, sacrificed into the abyss of the Atlantic. Her life would have been very different. A life without Matthew. Without George. Without Ross, Lizzie, Alex and their children.

Lady Mary Crawley's last breath whistled out of her body. She'd done what he asked. She'd lived her life to the very full. Now it was time to finally live together. Just as he had asked her to, seventy-three years ago.

* * *

 _Next up: Mary is reunited with Matthew (yay!)_


	2. Such Good Luck

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much to all of you kind souls that read and reviewed the first chapter! And yes, I shed a few tears whilst writing this and yes I re-watched the (original) Christmas Special for inspiration and yes... I also watched the ending of Titanic. I'm an emotional wreck right now.

So enjoy this long awaited reunion scene and please tell me what you think! x

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Such Good Luck**

Mary glided through the narrow corridor of her childhood home. The walls dripped with memories. She'd seen so much more than any other inhabitant in the house's history.

She stopped at the top of the grand staircase. One step. Then another. And another. That was her mantra in life, especially once she'd reached her seventies. Take each day at a time, each birthday, each Christmas, each year to her was a bonus.

 _'Here comes the bride!'_

Her spine was straight not hunched, her back no longer ached when she moved, her joints no longer stiff and uncomfortable. Her folds of tired, worn skin had disappeared, to be replaced with the alabaster, smooth, creamy flesh of her youth! Oh, she was young again, vibrant! How she'd taken it for granted! Her wine coloured dress now wrapped snugly around her slender body, just as it had on that magical night. She was also much lighter, as if she could happily float away like a balloon to the sky.

Mary gracefully paced downstairs, like a swan emerging from the water. A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention.

"Oh…"

There they were.

Papa and her Carson! Waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, side-by-side, gazing up at her in pure awe.

 _'Will I do Carson?'_

 _'Very nicely m'lady.'_

"Have I done well Carson?" Mary asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"Very, very well m'lady." Carson replied, the tears now apparent in his eyes too.

Mary joined them at the bottom of the staircase, allowing her father to plant a light kiss on her forehead. "Go." He whispered, "He's waiting for you."

Mary's heartbeat accelerated – Good Lord she could still feel a heartbeat! Maybe it wasn't a heartbeat… maybe it was something else in her heart entirely.

Smiling at her darling Papa, Mary crossed the hall to the first set of doors, her fingernails digging into her palm.

A clock chimed somewhere in the distance.

She glanced over her shoulder. Papa and Carson had gone.

Mary halted before the door. Could she open it? Could she touch it - ?

"Allow me m'lady."

A soft Northern lilt appeared from behind her. Mary turned to see William, standing taller and prouder than she'd ever seen him, decked in all his finery and smiling. He gently prised open the door for her.

"Thank you William." Mary said, beaming at the former footman. "I'm… truly grateful to you for…"

Oh God where could she begin? Saving Matthew? Letting him live those few precious years? With her? Letting him father George? Saving Downton?

"I know m'lady. I know." William said, straightening up, and still smiling, he gave her a small nod of respect before vanishing completely.

Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Yes. She was ready. Lifting her head up, she dared herself to stare straight ahead.

The front doors were already wide open.

A whimper slipped through her quivering lips.

There he was.

Outside. She could see him now. As clearly as that joyous yet fateful day when he left her – and George. When she asked for a decent kiss and was rewarded with a lifetime of widowhood.

He had his back to her. His tall, lean frame as still as a statue, his golden hair shimmering under the moonlight, snow drifting softly around him. He was even wearing the same suit from that night, dashing and handsome as ever. It was as if he had been frozen in time.

Waiting for her.

Oh how she longed to run to him! But ever the pragmatist, held back out of fear. How long had it been since her senses had been heightened by his presence? Seventy-one years! What if she'd forgotten how to - talk to him? To kiss him? She'd lived longer without him than she ever had with him. And that's the only thought that terrified her. What if she'd changed? What if he had? Oh she didn't know how this all worked!

 _'I'd never be happy with anyone else as long as you walk the earth. Which is true. And I think you feel the same about me.'_

Lady Mary Crawley stepped outside, her feet crunching under the snow. She reached out a trembling hand to touch him but just couldn't bring herself to do it. Her hand dropped to her side. Instead, she wrapped her gloved arms daintily around each other, clinging onto herself for support.

"Matthew?" She called out, her voice fragile.

He spun around, his feet slipping on the snow. He steadied himself and gazed upon her. His wife.

Their eyes locked for the first time in seventy-one years and five months.

It all came flooding back. A tidal wave of memories so fierce, so powerful, she was almost bowled over by the nostalgia of it all. She'd forgotten how bright his cerulean eyes were! She'd forgotten how his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. She'd forgotten how his hair felt like spun gold, soft upon her fingertips and how she yearned to grasp it again.

A grainy photograph trapped in a frame just didn't do him justice.

"Mary." Matthew breathed, his voice hoarse with love, longing and... pride. He tilted his head to the side, those bright blue orbs glazed with tears. "You've come back to me."

"It's you." Mary whispered. She allowed her hand to come to rest on his chest and another one to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, his hand instantly covering hers. A giggle escaped her lips, "It's - it's really you! Matthew!"

Unable to handle the sheer intensity of it all, Mary's legs finally gave way. But he caught her. As he always did. Wrapping his arms safely around her waist and cradling her to his chest, his hand cupping the back of her head.

The dam broke and she sobbed into his neck. Tears of joy, grief, happiness, oh she didn't know!

"Shh. It's all right my darling." He whispered into her ear. "You've returned. You've returned to me. I can't tell you how long I've waited for this day… and Mary, you've lived, you've lived so long -!

"Long? I'm as old as Methusla Matthew!" She murmured into his neck.

"No!" He said firmly, his voice thick with blocked tears. "You've lived life for the both of us! My God, I'm so proud of you, my stormbraver!"

Mary pulled away so she could gaze into eyes. Her hands gently stroked his face. "Matthew – hold me like you'll never let me go."

Matthew smirked, "I have no intention of ever letting you go. Never again."

Finally, they sealed their reunion with a long awaited kiss. Mary sighed into his lips, releasing eighty years worth of love. She grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket and clung to him. Matthew poured all the love he had for her in that one, single kiss.

The two lovers broke apart, staring at each other in bliss. Matthew allowed his tears to pour freely down his cheeks.

"Oh my darling." Mary peeled a glove off her hand and wiped away his tears with her thumb. "Shh. I'm here now. I'm here to stay. Whether you ask me to or not! You can't get rid of me that easily now!"

Laughter burst through his lips. But he couldn't speak for fear of breaking down completely. So he swept her up in his arms, twirling her around in the snow, whilst lavishing seventy-two more kisses on her. Each one for the years they spent apart.

Mary laughed, savouring the comfort of her husband's arms - for he was still her husband.

Death may have parted them once before but it cannot do so again.

Finally they were both at peace.

* * *

 _Next Up: Matthew stands by Mary_


	3. I'll Stand By You

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the amazing reviews, keep em coming because it helps me write quicker! And I know this chapter was supposed to be about George but it was too long so I split it. So this is mainly more of M/M which I'm sure you won't mind! ;)

So enjoy and let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - I'll Stand By You**

Matthew gently set her down on the snow, their foreheads pressed together.

"So how does this work?" Mary asked, a little shy. "Where do we go from here?"

Matthew opened his mouth to reply, his eyes sparkling – but was interrupted by Ross skidding to a halt between them, gasping for breath. He unloosened his tie feverishly as if removing a noose from his neck.

"Ross?" Mary gasped in concern. "What's wrong?"

Ross ignored her, bending over, his hands placed on his kneecaps as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Mary reached out to comfort him but Matthew gently guided her hand down.

"Let him take it all in Mary." Matthew said softly, gazing upon his eldest grandson with sympathy and pity.

Standing side by side, Mary could've laughed if the situation were funny. It's not every day you see the grandparents looking very much younger than their grandchildren.

Ross took in deep, steady breaths, his eyes red rimmed and glazed with shock. Very slowly he straightened up. Mary watched in shock as their local doctor, Dr Riley filed out of the Abbey. He always struck her as a very young chap in his mid-forties. Now of course he looked older than her.

The good doctor placed a comforting hand on Ross's shoulder, muttering, "I'm so sorry for your loss Lord Downton."

Ross gave him a stiff nod as he shook the man's hand, keeping his back straight, his face devoid of any emotion.

Mary knew the routine only too well.

"It looks like she died of natural causes." Dr Riley said tentatively.

Matthew circled an arm around Mary's waist, pulling her closer to him, her body trembling. Hearing her death talked about in such a blasé' tone – well, it was overwhelming.

Ross's stoic demeanour almost cracked in confusion, "Natural causes?" He whispered, the grief still raw in his voice.

"I will have to contact a coroner." Dr Riley added, slightly sheepish.

Ross's head snapped toward him, "Why?"

"Just routine." Dr Riley answered quickly. "When a person has passed away suddenly – well, there'll need to be a post-mortem."

"She was a hundred and one." Ross said through gritted teeth.

"We still need to be sure m'lord." Dr Riley said, inching further and further away from them, in case Ross unleashed the full extent of his grief. The village had felt the force of Ross's short temper and it was clearly ticking tonight.

But Ross didn't speak. He just stared into the distance, his expression blank.

"I'll leave you all to it. Please give my condolences to Lord and Lady Grantham, Lady Elizabeth and Mr Crawley."

Ross nodded, watching Dr Riley scuttle back to his car.

Mary turned to Matthew in a panic, "Post mortem? They want to cut me open!"

Matthew rubbed his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to comfort her, "Oh my darling. It's not you. You're here with me now. It's just – your body."

Mary wilted in his arms. "Oh. Yes I suppose so."

Ross sloped back inside the house, his head hung low.

"Matthew, "Mary breathed, her throat closing up, "What happened to you my darling? I – I don't even remember there being a post-mortem!"

"Mary -"

"All I remember is being so shocked with grief, I think I started to bleed and my body couldn't cope, I'd just had George -!"

"Hey, shhh." He drew her into his arms again, "None of that. It's all right Mary. We're here, we're together and that's all that matters."

Mary pulled away suddenly. "Oh my God, George! Matthew I just left him! He'll be wondering where I am!"

Matthew's eyes flashed in confusion. "Mary – he knows what's happened."

"Then I must see him. Right away."

Matthew nodded in understanding, lacing his fingers in hers. "We'll see him together."

"Really?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

 _'You must stay here.'_

 _'What do you mean? I'm not letting you out of my sight!"_

Mary sighed, letting her forehead rest against his once more. If only she'd just let him come back home with her! Then again – how many times had she berated herself over the little things she could or should have done the day George was born?

Matthew brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips, a small smile playing about his lips. "I've missed you so much."

Mary returned the smile. "I've missed you more. You left – a hole in my heart and in my life. George's too."

Matthew's smile melted. "I didn't do it on purpose my darling."

Mary nodded, her eyes pooling. "I know. I know you'd never leave me – leave us on purpose. It still hurts to think about, especially now I have you in front of me."

She wiped the corner of her eyes. Oh why did they have so much tears? They were ghosts for heaven sake, they don't produce bodily fluids!

Matthew gave her hand a little squeeze. "Come on Mary. Let's go and see our son."

* * *

 _Next up: George says goodbye to Mary._


	4. Poor Little Orphan

**Author's Note:** Grab the tissues. This one's a weepy. I had tears running down my cheeks by the end, my God! I guess I really thought about George - and how sad his situation is. But actually, if we think about it, he's the real focal point of the story as everything was building up for him to take over - even when Matthew was heir, it was all about HIS son, continuing HIS line, etc.

So anyway, please let me know what you think of this one! x

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Poor Little Orphan**

With Matthew's hand entwined safely in hers, Mary peeked into the library. George sat beside an armchair where Mary's body was now resting peacefully, a blanket draped over her knees.

Mary tiptoed toward her son, her heart compressing with love. George's posture was hunched in despair, his face rigid with grief. "Georgie…." She called out softly.

George didn't even blink.

"He can't hear me Matthew." Mary said, disappointment rife in her voice.

"He can't hear any of us." Matthew responded gently. "Come here." He guided her to the red velvet sofa where they sat, watching silently as their son kept vigil beside his mother.

 _'Poor little orphan.'_

 _'He's not an orphan. He's got his mother. Orphans haven't.'_

The warm fire crackled away in the hearth, completely oblivious to the tragedy sweeping through the household. Mary's wheelchair was neatly folded, resting against the wall.

No need for it now.

Overcome with curiosity, Mary peered at her body. "It looks as if I've just fallen asleep. I used to do that sometimes. Fall asleep down here."

"I know." Matthew responded, his voice rich against hers. "I always loved watching you sleep. Even after you moved from your side... to mine."

Mary sighed, kissing his cheek. She let her forehead rest against his neck, breathing him in. "I didn't want your side to grow cold. I was keeping it warm for you my darling."

Matthew kissed her hand in response. "Thank you."

She chanced another glimpse at her body again. She couldn't seem to help it.

Her skin and lips were turning blue, her cheeks a little sunken in. "Goodness, they're going to have to embalm me quickly! Before I start resembling a smurf!" Mary said lightly. Then she remembered, Matthew might not even know what a smurf is.

Matthew's grip on her hand grew tighter, his jaw tensing. He stared at Mary's body, his eyes now resembling two chips of ice. Though she didn't understand why at first, she realised he was trying and failing to keep some kind of emotion locked inside. That was where they both differed.

"What is it?" She asked in alarm.

Matthew shook his head, rising from the sofa. "Never mind. It's silly."

"I'll be the judge of that." Mary stood up, facing him. "Tell me what's wrong, please."

He licked his lips, "Mary, I just... I've been waiting for this day for a very long time, you know that. And I know you're here beside me now. And we're together again. But... seeing your body like that... it just - God I can't even - " He bit his lip, turning away from her.

"Oh Matthew." She breathed, slithering her arm through his and forcing him to face her. She wanted him to feel her and to feel him in return. "I didn't suffer. I promise you I didn't!"

"Really?" He asked, his eyebrows lifting in hope. "You didn't feel any pain."

Mary could only gape at him. It had come down to this. He had been crushed by a car, left to die alone and terrified, on the side of the road - while she had passed away peacefully, surrounded by the love of her family.

And he still only thought about her. Her pain. Her life.

"Matthew..." Her bottom lip trembled, warning her that tears weren't far behind. But she couldn't cry. Not now George was in so much pain. "I love you so much for thinking about me - even in death. But you must think of George now. He's just lost his mother."

 _'Mary, you've gone through a hideous time. But now you must think of your son. He needs you. Very much.'_

 _'I know. The truth is... I don't think I'm going to be a very good mother.'_

They turned their attention back to their son.

George pulled the blanket further up Mary's cold body, saying softly, "You always used to tuck me in like this. Do you remember when I was nine and we spent that Christmas in Great Ormond Street, crippled with appendicitis? You tucked me up into bed and told me everything was going to be all right, that the doctors would make me better and I could then eat as much Christmas pudding as my stomach could take! Then after I got shot down and refused to leave my bed… you tucked me up and told off! Told me to stop sulking and get back to work! That there was a war on and I could've ended up in a far worse state." He tucked the blanket in at the sides. "There. Are you warm now Mama?"

Matthew stared at George in a mixture of awe tinged with sadness.

 _'Say hello to your son and heir.'_

It was odd to think that they stood, gazing upon him as an old man as if he were an infant swaddled in his crib.

"My son." Matthew's voice trailed out in a precious whisper. "This feeling of... complete, pure, unadulterated love... it never goes away does it?"

"No." Mary answered, her heart shredding at the sight of George, her darling boy, staring at her body, stoic and silent. "No, it never goes away."

George protectively covered both his hands over her cold, dead hand.

A shiver trickled down her spine. She remembered his tiny hand clasping her thumb, tucked up cosily together in a hospital bed as they waited for someone who'd never return.

It's almost as if George knew and was trying to comfort her. Like Sybbie did after Sybil died. That cry. Just after. Do children know? Do they harbour some kind of sixth sense?

The door creaked open. Lizzie, her – their – granddaughter shuffled into the room, her eyes red rimmed and puffed. "Daddy, Aunt Sybbie's on the phone." She muttered, her voice laced with sorrow.

George made a move to stand up but Lizzie held up a hand, "It's all right. Mummy's talking to her."

He dropped back into the chair. "Where are your brothers?"

"Talking to Dr Riley." Lizzie closed her eyes tightly. "The – undertakers will be here in the morning."

Matthew squeezed her hand in reassurance.

George cleared his throat. "They'll take her."

"Yes Daddy. They'll take her."

 _'The men from Grasby's have arrived.'_

 _'To take her away?'_

 _'Yes and we must let them.'_

Lizzie hovered near her the space where Mary and Matthew stood; her attention focused solely on her elderly father. "Daddy you're exhausted. You should go to sleep."

"No." George said, his voice calm. "You see - I'll never get another chance to say goodbye to my mother. This is it."

 _'This is my last chance to say goodbye to my baby.'_

And this was Mary's last chance to say goodbye to hers.

The tears streamed freely down Lizzie's cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve. "Would you like me to stay with you? Or would you rather say goodbye on your own."

"I'd like to say goodbye on my own for now." George replied kindly. "But you and your brothers should say goodbye too. Just – give me till the morning. You three need to get back to your children and – try and work out what you're going to say. She loved them all very much you know. And she was terribly proud of them."

"Oh Georgie." Mary breathed. Matthew glanced at her but didn't say anything.

"My place tonight is beside your grandmother." George said, with an air of finality to his tone. He wouldn't budge from Mary's side.

Not an inch.

Taking that as her cue, Lizzie quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

It was just the three of them now.

 _'You are going to be such a wonderful mother.'_

 _'How do you know?'_

 _'Because you're such a wonderful woman.'_

George's lips twitched into a sad smile, tears leaking from his eyes. "They all said we wouldn't be standing in forty years. It didn't matter what decade we were limping through, or what social change was hurled our way, they all said we'd never make it to the next year, let alone decade. And here we are Mama. 1993. And still going strong. Still standing, come war, come peace. And it's because of us. Our team. We made such a good team, all of us. "

 _'You're on my team now.'_

"But it was you and me at the helm really." George sniffed, "Downton is in our blood and our bones as Donk used to say. You know Mama, there were only four people in my whole world who really loved Downton with an abiding passion. You. Me. Donk. Granny Violet. Well – six if you count Carson and Barrow!"

He gave a watery chuckle, then swallowed, the small flash of mirth wiped away from his face. He lapsed into silence for the longest time.

Mary and Matthew both watched their son in anguish, unable to offer any kind of comfort to him. Mary had only been gone for a few hours and already she couldn't bear it! How had Matthew endured seventy-one years of this torture!

George lifted his head, giving her his sad smile again. "When I was about fourteen, Uncle Tom once told me that I'm the child of two hot headed individuals and whenever anyone looked at me, they could see you and Papa battling it away."

Matthew choked a laugh.

"So I'll keep going." George vowed, "I'll keep going and I'll stand by Downton and this family because it's in my blood. Through and through. It's my destiny after all."

An understanding simmered through the room. George was Downton's before he was theirs.

Even George knew. He's always known that he was the 'saviour' as it were.

The very concept, the idea of George had existed long before Matthew had set foot inside Downton.

Whether he be Patrick's son or Matthew's. Mary had known and wished it would be her son – whichever heir she married– that carried her father's line and the Crawley name into the next generation. The little boy who had weaved her and her family into Downton, cementing them in history forever. The young Pilot who had solemnly stepped into his grandfather's shoes as the Earl of Grantham at only twenty years of age. The young man who had given Downton not one but two healthy heirs. The old man who had just celebrated forty-one years as Lord Grantham. A title he was born to bear.

Their very own King George.

And that's why Mary loved George more than any other child she would've had. That is also why she didn't want any more children. It wouldn't be fair to them.

It was shameful and selfish to admit, but it was the God's honest truth.

 _'I didn't think it was possible. To love as much as I love you.'_

Mary's memory now drifted back further, to her pregnancy when she was knocked sideways by morning sickness, being nursed back to healthy by Matthew, carrying George as he kicked and hiccupped. She remembered Matthew chuckling in delight as he kept his hand or ear to her belly.

Then she thought of her harrowing labour. The endless torrent of pain completely engulfing her body, feeling as if she were being torn in two, screaming in the most unladylike fashion – pausing only to stare at the ceiling, thinking of Sybil.

Anna's hand was clenched in hers, Isobel's hand mopping her brow, Dr Clarkson shouting words of encouragement as she pushed, pushed, pushed Downton's prince into the world… then a loud cry pierced through the room. A boy. A son. In tears herself, Isobel cleaned and placed him snugly in her arms, mother and son together.

That was when the tidal wave of love hit her.

 _'We've done our duty. Downton is safe. Papa must be dancing a jig!'_

 _'I'm dancing a jig! I feel like I've swallowed a box of fireworks!'_

They had given Downton its Crown Prince.

And her husband had been taken as a price.

 _'Sacrifice should be rewarded.'_

What was the reward here? She didn't know.

Matthew's fate was sealed, the moment George had been conceived.

 _'Now we can start making babies.'_

Baby.

Just one.

 _Armistice Day 1920._

Ironically, it was the one and only night in months that they had made love without any thoughts of procreation involved.

After the memorial service, Matthew came to their room, carrying a haunted look in his eyes and kitted in his olive green uniform. He slid to the floor, breaking down completely. She held him as he cried, listened as he sputtered fragmented memories of the Somme, Amiens, all of it. Then he gave her that look. The one where she was the only girl in the world and he was the only boy.

Then they came together. No words were spoken but they knew straight after… something had happened. After months of no results… they knew.

Call it intuition.

"You're thinking about the night he was conceived aren't you?" Matthew asked, poking into her thoughts.

"Matthew Crawley, are you eavesdropping on my memories?" Mary teased, almost blushing at the memory.

Matthew responded with a tired laugh. "No. I was thinking the same thing too. That night and the day he was born are really… the only physical connections I have with him Mary…." His voice cracked, he moved away from her, closer to George.

"I… I appeared to him in dreams. Especially during times of trouble. Like when he had appendicitis and then during the war, all that ghastly business. But that's all it was. A quick conversation in his unconscious state, and then I was gone. Like a puff of smoke. And he returned to real life... with you."

He turned back to her, his eyes brimming, just as he had when they'd parted under the oak tree.

 _'You've shown me I've been living in a dream. And now it's time to return to real life. Wish me luck with it Mary. God knows I wish the same for you."_

"I knew it." Mary breathed, "He told me all about it and I knew it was really you! Oh darling, George loves you very much!"

"I don't doubt that. I just – think he loves the idea of me." Matthew said with a broken smile. "I heard the conversations Mary. I heard everything. I didn't want my son to hold me up on a pedestal. Thinking that I was some kind of perfect hero when in real life - !"

"You were. You are." Mary said quietly. "To him and me."

Now she remembered only three words. Back in the hospital room, tucked up in bed where baby George slept peacefully in her loving embrace.

 _Car. Crash. Gone._

That's when the bleeding started. Dr Clarkson fussed over her but she didn't care. She allowed herself to bleed and bleed... and why not? Her heart was breaking, why the hell shouldn't she bleed out? It was beyond her control was it not?

Matthew was gone and there was nothing left for her to live for. Absolutely nothing.

Until a tiny cry pierced through her vapour of grief.

George. Alone in his crib, he screamed and wailed until the nurses attended to him. But he wasn't crying for them.

He was crying for her.

Mary knew then. She needed to claw back to life, however much she'll hate it. Living without Matthew would be painful to the soul... but allowing George to live without both of them... would be downright cruel.

He saved her that day. Her baby saved her. He was the only guiding light through the thick fog of mourning.

Between the two of them, Matthew and George had both saved her from the brink of madness and a premature death. Oh what did she do to deserve them?

 _'Don't you owe it to Mr Crawley? To protect his work? And the changes he made? To steer Downton in the right direction?'_

And so she did.

George had fulfilled a kind of destiny that had been set for him, for all of them, from the very second Titanic scraped across that iceberg.

James. Patrick. Her unborn brother. Matthew. Papa.

God or The Powers That Be had important plans for her son, which saw him walk past five coffins to carry it out.

George's head snapped up suddenly, staring right at his parents. Mary sucked in a breath.

"Matthew can he - ?"

"I don't know. I – I always used to catch him doing that to me…"

George slowly dipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and drew out a small stuffed dog.

Matthew squeezed her hand.

George carefully tucked it into Mary's lifeless hand, resting her other hand on top of it so they clasped together atop the blankets.

"You gave this to me on the platform, two days before the Battle of Britain." He sighed. "You wanted me to bring it back without a scratch and I kept my word. I had it on me that day, when my cockpit caught fire and my engine failed me." George patted her hands. "You never failed me Mama. So here, take it. It belongs with you."

 _'You know my dear. There is more than one type of good mother.'_

George carefully leaned over and kissed his mother's cold cheek, his voice trembling as he whispered in her ear, "Goodbye Mama."

"See. You have been such a wonderful mother." Matthew said, pride ripe in his voice. "Just like I knew you would be."

Mary crouched beside her boy. "Goodbye my sweet little prince." She whispered, kissing his temple. She closed her eyes, savouring this last moment. "I love you Georgie. I love you to the moon and back."

Matthew kissed George's other cheek. "Goodbye my dearest chap."

If a stranger had seen the three of them, they'd think it was two young people kissing their elderly grandfather goodnight.

Not two parents kissing their child goodbye.

* * *

George Crawley lifted a withered hand to his cheeks, feeling a light brush of air, like a kiss almost. He shook his head, continuing to stare at his mother's dead body, completely absorbed in grief. He barely noticed the library door bounce shut or the smoke swirling from the fire's dying embers.

* * *

 _Next up: Mary reunites with Violet._


	5. A Grandmother's Prerogative

Chapter 5 - A Grandmother's Prerogative

"Poor Georgie.' Mary sighed as the drifted through the Great Hall, one hand resting on her heart. "I haven't seen him that upset since Barrow passed away."

"Ah yes. Barrow." Matthew did nothing to disguise the envy creeping into his voice.

Mary placed a hand on his cheek, "Darling he was an amazing father figure to George when you couldn't be. Surely that means something."

"Oh, it means everything." Matthew responded, his eyes growing small, sad. "When I had tea with him in the trenches or - or when he called me out that first night at dinner... I didn't think for one second that he'd end up being more of a father to _my_ son than I ever could be."

"But Matthew - "

"When I watched Thomas - Barrow and George talking and opening up to each other they reminded me of you and Carson."

Mary smiled. "I know. I used to see it too."

"But more than that." Matthew continued, his voice constricting, "When George brought one of his friends home that Summer of 34 or 35 I forget... he introduced him to Barrow and called him 'his favourite person in the world.' Is it wrong of me to feel so jealous when I have absolutely no business feeling like that? I was dead and George doesn't know me. But it still hurt. I'll not deny it. I'm truly grateful to the man for helping George when he needed him the most but... I was still hurt."

"Oh Matthew." Guilt stirred in the pit of Mary's stomach though she didn't know why. "Growing up in big houses - children were always closer to the servants than they were their own parents. They formed the most incredible bonds. I should know, I speak from experience."

Matthew just nodded, his expression passive. "For the aristocracy perhaps. But not so much for the middle classes."

Mary looked away. Yet another element they'd been cheated out of. Fighting over how to rear their children.

"We shouldn't think about this now though." Matthew said, clearing his throat. "We have to move on. Together."

Mary nodded, her eyes wide. "Yes of course. I just... darling would you mind terribly if I checked on a few people before we - go?"

Matthew raised his brow. "Oh?"

"Yes... you see there's our grandson." Mary swallowed, trying to decide how to phrase her request. "He has... problems -"

A voice echoed across the hall. "Which grandson would that be?" Her grandmother, Violet Crawley, Countess then Dowager Countess of Grantham, strode toward them, her face twitching into a smirk, "The arsonist or the musician?"

Mary stared at her grandmother, a smile leaking across her face. Granny looked exactly the same as she had when Mary remembered her, only she was glowing much more and didn't have a cane to lean on.

"Oh Granny!" All thoughts of propriety firmly squashed (they were in the afterlife after all!) Mary threw her arms around her grandmother. "I missed you."

For once her grandmother welcomed the improper hug, exchanging a grin with Matthew. Mary pulled away, stroking her grandmother's cheek. "I don't understand Granny... how come you look the same as you did when you died?"

Violet bristled at that. "You mean old?"

Mary bit her lip. She could practically feel Matthew's laugh from behind her. "Well - that's not what I - "

Violet threw up a hand, "My dear I'm not hear to quarrel with you, Lord knows we'll have enough of that in the afterlife. No, from what I gather, we appear to our loved ones in the best way we can. You look young to Matthew because that's how he remembered you. I look young to my late husband because that's how he remembered me. And when your George finally comes to the side, he'll appear... however you want him to appear."

Mary turned to Matthew who just nodded in confirmation. "I've seen my Father, Mary. And he's exactly as I remembered him."

"I should like to meet him." Mary said, shyly.

Matthew's eyes widened. "Why of course... I hadn't thought!"

Their briefly happy moment was sliced short by the sight of Ross marching through the house, his jaw clenched.

"Alex!" He barked, "I need you!"

Alex immediately appeared from the Drawing Room, his eyes red, his lips quivering. "What is it?"

Ross thrust a piece of paper at his brother's chest, sniffing slightly. "List." He grunted, "We have to start making calls. Where's Dad?"

"Library." Alex muttered, staring at the paper with dejected eyes. "With her."

Ross closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his jaw ticking. He just nodded. It was all he could do. "I'll - I'll leave it with you?"

"Yeah. Leave it with me."

Ross hurried off toward the old servants hall, no doubt to drink himself into a stupor.

"Just like you always do." Alex murmured to himself, the bitterness evident.

"What's happened to them?" Mary whispered.

"Well... you've passed my dear." Violet said, her tone laced with sympathy. "You must give them time. They will heal."

"Time." Mary echoed. Oh yes. She'd had plenty of that. Her soul was forever marked from the wounds that time healed.

* * *

A bone white glow shimmered through the house that morning. George had retreated to his room, in the early hours, leaving his mother to his children.

Mary and Matthew had snuck back into the library to watch her - their grandchildren bid goodbye to their grandmother. The three of them just stood in a line, staring at her body.

Mary clung to Matthew's hand, giving him a wistful smile. "I wish you'd met them properly." She said. "At least you got to hold George, kiss him goodbye even if you didn't realise it was goodbye..."

He returned the smile, "I've watched them all grow. And I've watched how you've influenced their lives. One by one."

Ross took a step towards his grandmother's body. "You know... she was the only person in this whole world who really believed in me."

' _She was the only person living who thought you and I were nice people.'_

Lizzie glanced at him. "And me. I was a right bitch in my younger years -"

Ross snorted. Mary rolled her eyes at Matthew who chuckled.

"But she saw through all of that." Lizzie stepped forward and kissed Mary's cold forehead. "Goodbye Granny. Sleep tight wherever you are."

Alex stepped forward next, kissing Mary's cheek. "I love you Granny. Please watch over us." He whispered, before taking a step back. Matthew laced his arm around Mary's waist, pulling her close to him.

Ross didn't move. Lizzie glanced at him. "Ross." She nudged him. "You want to say goodbye?"

Finally Ross took a step. Toward the grandmother he had loved an cherished above all else. He stroked her silver curls and then bent to kiss her withered cheek. "Goodbye." He breathed.

Mary turned to Matthew, he gave her a sad smile. "Are you ready to go my love?"

Mary shook her head. "I can't Matthew. I have to stay."

* * *

 _To be continued..._


End file.
